


thunder only happens when it's raining

by fliptomybside



Category: One Direction (Band), Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 00:19:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5948890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fliptomybside/pseuds/fliptomybside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years ago, Taylor didn't think she'd be here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thunder only happens when it's raining

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt bakery/hurt/comfort/friends to lovers/dancing. Unbeta-ed so all mistakes are mine, title from Fleetwood Mac, please don't let the real people that this is about see this, etc. etc.

It’s pouring rain, and Taylor knows that her hair’s going to be frizzy for the rest of the day. It’s not a big deal, she has to keep it back anyway, but she’s so close to unraveling that it feels like a last straw.

The lock is sticking on the back door, probably because of the rain and humidity that have ruined her hair and her day, and of course she’s the first one there. 

Three years ago, if you’d told Taylor she’d still be working at the bakery that was just supposed to be a part time job while she finished school, she would’ve laughed. This wasn’t the plan. She didn’t think she’d still be struggling with the back door of a bakery that should’ve been fixed months ago. She didn’t think she’d be giving up on music. Didn’t think that three years later, after finishing a degree in music and putting in the time at smoky dive bars and trying, that she would still be here. New York isn’t glittery when you’re nobody. It’s not the answer Taylor thought it would be. Here, she’s nameless. Here, trying your best doesn’t guarantee anything. 

She twists her key in the lock again, fingers slippery with rain, and it finally gives. The smell of brown sugar hits her like a wall when she steps inside, the kitchen still dark and the floor already slick underneath her feet. She flicks on the light and slip-slides across the room and down the basement stairs. Her clogs are waiting in her locker, and she shakes them out first. It wouldn’t be the first time that a spider was hiding out in one, and really, once is enough.

Taylor scrapes her bangs off of her forehead and stuffs her rain jacket in the locker. This is her life now. It’s not what she thought it would be, but who’s is?

-

Nine o’clock rolls around, and Taylor’s pretty sure the smell of chocolate chip cookies is going to be forever embedded in her skin. She can’t even talk about her hair. She’s also pretty sure that Ed’s going to be late. It’s Monday, so she’s not expecting anything else, but she texts him anyway.

 _‘you are so lucky laura’s not here. and that i didn't call you at 7 when the back door wouldn’t open,'_ she types out as she flips the sign from closed to open and unlocks the front door. 

She pockets her phone and makes her way back behind the counter. It’s pouring outside, even harder than it was when she arrived, and Taylor knows it’s going to be a slow morning. They’ll have a few customers stopping by, the die hard regulars, but everyone else will be too busy rushing for the cover of the subway to stop on their way to work.

Her phone buzzes in her back pocket.

 _‘5 minutes out, h says he can fix th door but u know how he is,’_ Ed’s text reads.

Taylor does. Harry’s well meaning, sure, and he works part time in a hardware store when he’s not in class, but he’s all limbs and clumsy fingers. She met him when he moved in with Ed, after Taylor had to move back in with her parents when the gigs stopped coming for her and started coming for Ed. 

That was a year ago, and Taylor still remembers the first time she saw him like it was seconds ago. He’d bumped into her on her way out, knocking her into the wall in the hallway outside what used to be her and Ed’s place. Taylor was annoyed at first, some stranger in a rush making the worst day of her life even worse, but Harry was all slow apologies and when she finally got a good look at him, hand tangled in his hair and dimple pressed into his cheek, she knew she was done for. She didn’t date, doesn’t date, and Harry’s name dropping someone new every week, and he might flirt with her and whisper in her ear when they go to Ed’s gigs, but if something were going to happen between them, it would’ve happened a long time ago.

Harry’s a good friend, he is, but he’s flighty and a whirlwind all it once, and sometimes it seems like he can break things just by looking at them, and he might think working at a hardware store qualifies him to fix things, but he’s wrong. In the year since he moved in with Ed, Harry managed to break his phone, Ed’s phone, and her’s phone, and every time she’s been to their apartment since, it’s been a disaster area. Harry might mean well, but his execution is lacking. 

The bell over the door jingles, and Ed stumbles in, hoodie drenched and no umbrella in sight. The shop is empty, so he strips his sweatshirt off in the middle of the floor, showering it with water.

“Fifteen minutes, not bad,” Taylor says, and she does not feel sorry for him, not even when she sees that the rain has soaked through to his work shirt. 

Ed rifles his fingers through his hair as he walks toward the counter, and he at least has the decency to look vaguely apologetic.

“Think I forgot to set my alarm last night, don’t know what happened. Haz had someone by late, think they work together. Not sure why he still thinks that’s a good idea. Or why he thinks I can’t hear him, but. It was a late night,” he says as he makes his way around the counter.

Taylor rolls her eyes. It doesn’t hurt, not really, and she has bigger things to think about, but she doesn’t want to hear about Harry’s latest conquest. She doesn’t care, but she also just doesn’t need to know.

“So Harry’s the same person as he was when I talked to him last week? I don’t—”

“You don’t need to hear about his flavor of the week, I know, and I think people stopped saying that in 2000,” Ed interrupts as he bumps her shoulder. 

“I just don’t care, that’s all,” Taylor says, and her protests sound weak even to her own ears. Whatever. It’s just Harry. She’s not in love with him. He and Ed are her best friends, the only ones who can still put up with her being miserable, and she needs that. Needs them, just as they are.

“You could talk to him. He worries about you. Asked how that interview went.”

Taylor doesn't want to think about the interview. She doesn’t want to be an administrative assistant, but she also wants to not smell like food when she leaves work everyday. It’d be nice to have sick and vacation days and health insurance, too. Twenty seven is looming, and actually, she doesn’t want to think about this almost as much as she doesn’t want to think about Harry fucking everyone but her. 

She shrugs. “Same as the last three. I obsessed, I wore pants that made me feel like a forty year old woman, they asked stupid questions about what I want to do with my life, said they’d give me a call, and I’m still waiting.”

The bell over the door jingles again, and their first bedraggled customer of the day squelches in. She steps back and lets Ed take it over. His accent and his hair make him a favorite, and Taylor’s going to take advantage of that today She feels bitter and she hates it, knows it’s not productive or attractive, but she also doesn’t want Ed’s sympathetic looks or promises that something’s going to pan out in the end.

He’s right, she thinks as she watches him take the woman’s order. She’s smiling at Ed even though she looks soaked to the bone, and Taylor wishes she had that kind of charm. Harry has it too, which is probably why he’s still employed despite his lack of know-how. It makes sense that the two of them became fast friends, Ed and Harry endlessly charming in different ways. Taylor’s not sure why they put up with her. She was different when she and Ed met at NYU, both flush with anticipation for the real world, and she remembers staying up until 3 am the first night in their apartment. The first night she really felt like things were going to happen for her. 

“Can y’get me a small coffee to go? Half reg, half decaf?” Ed interrupts her thoughts. Taylor smiles her best smile at the lady waiting as she hurries to get her drink.

-

It’s slow, just like Taylor thought it would be. The rain doesn’t stop, and she and Ed spend most of the day playing Words With Friends. She’s pretty sure she, Ed, and Harry are the only people still playing that game, but Taylor’s always loved Scrabble, and Harry does just as much. If she has to pull a double on a slow day, she’s at least glad it’s with Ed. 

By the time eight o’clock rolls around, even Words With Friends isn’t enough to stave off the boredom. There’s nothing left to prep. The whole place is spotless, Taylor taking every opportunity to mop up after the few customers that made their way inside.

She’s in the basement struggling to put on her rain boots when she hears Harry’s laugh, loud and unmistakeable. Her rain jacket is still damp and chilled from being in the basement all day, and the last thing Taylor wants to do is go back upstairs to face Harry and his dimple and the concerned look that shows up on his face when he can tell she’s unhappy about something.

Her hair is still a mess, and she’s glad there aren’t any mirrors in the building, so at least she doesn’t have to know exactly how embarrassing she looks, even though it’s Harry and it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. 

Taylor makes her way upstairs and tries to be quiet. Maybe Harry’s up front and she can sneak out the back. On a different day, she’d probably manage it, but it’s impossible to be quiet in rain boots, so by the time she makes her way to the top of the stairs, Harry’s leaning against the industrial mixer, hair curling unfairly gently in response to the rain. 

“How was your weekend?” 

Taylor shrugs, because it wasn’t. She’d picked up some extra hours because it had seemed more appealing than applying for jobs she didn’t want and wouldn’t get. Harry always asks, though, and from anyone else it would sound like small talk, less than sincere and just filling empty space, but she knows that he means it every time. It’s hard to look at him, sometimes, because the way he looks at her, all intent and serious, like she matters, makes her want to spill every secret she’s ever had. 

“You know. Worked some extra hours here. Trying to keep busy so I don’t drive myself or my parents crazy,” she says. She pulls her hood up in the hopes that it’ll cut the conversation short. 

“Have you heard back about that admin opening at school yet?” Of course he remembers. Taylor worries sometimes that Ed talks to Harry about her like he talks to her about Harry. The likelihood is high, despite Ed’s insistence that he doesn’t like to meddle. Switzerland, he calls himself, even though they’ve never pulled him in the middle of anything, first and foremost because there’s never been anything.

“Nope. Not getting my hopes up. Besides, this job gives me plenty of time to destroy you at virtual Scrabble.” 

Harry frowns at that, brow furrowing, and he’s appealing even then. Taylor smirks at him.

“I do have a complete degree, it’s only fair that I exercise that advantage, considering I’m going to be paying for it for the next decade,” she says, and Harry rolls his eyes as she edges her way towards the back door. She can hear Ed finishing up the register up front. Her rain boots are making wet noises with each step and her shoulders are already damp and she hates every second of this sometimes.

“You coming to Ed’s show tomorrow?” Harry calls after her, and she turns to face him with one foot out the backdoor. 

“Haven’t missed a single one and I don’t plan to start now. Don’t forget I was his best friend first, I’ll be there tomorrow and Wednesday,” Taylor says, and when Harry grins at her, she admits to herself that it’s still kind of devastating. 

“‘m still second best, I know. See you there,” he says and salutes her as she steps out into the downpour. 

-

Taylor’s drenched by the time she gets home, her rain jacket giving up the fight a block from the subway stop. There are texts on her phone from Harry and Ed when she retrieves it from the depths of her bag. She ignores them in favor of a shower. She’ll respond after, maybe. She knows she should. Knows she should let them know how much she appreciates them sticking around when her misery became too much for everyone else. It’s hard, though. Taylor hates feeling exposed like that, doesn’t like showing her hand, even though the two of them are the best friends she’s ever had. 

The messages are still waiting when she gets out of the shower. Taylor exhales heavily and unlocks her phone. 

Ed’s just sent her the time of his show tomorrow and a string of emojis that she’s too tired to decipher. She sends him back a thumbs up. Like she’d ever miss one of his show. He’d come to all of hers, when she still did that, and sometimes he was the only one who came up to hug her after. She wishes that was enough.

Harry’s sent her Fleetwood Mac lyrics like he always does when he thinks she’s feeling extra down. It was confusing at first, getting random strings of words from Rumors in the middle of the day, but she figured it out eventually, and it makes her stomach lurch despite her attempts to push it down.

_thunder only happens when it’s raining, players only love you when they’re playing, say women they will come and they will go, when the rain washes you clean, you’ll know, you’ll know._

Weather appropriate, Taylor notes, and there’s no reason it should make her feel better, Harry sending her someone else’s words, but it does, because they always fit. Harry might sleep with a different stranger every week, but he always remembers her. She doesn’t let herself think about what that means, and the last thought she has before she drifts into sleep is that she hopes Ed remembered to lock the front door.

-

It’s dark and crowded and Taylor’s tired and her feet hurt, but she weaves her way through the crowd in search of Harry anyway. She finds him at the bar, unsurprisingly, leaning over to whisper in the bartender’s ear. She’s pretty and blond and smiling but Harry’s pulling back, putting distance between them and this isn’t how it normally goes.

She falters and pretty bartender tucks her hair behind her ear. Her cheeks look flushed and Harry’s smiling politely and Taylor knows how this goes. Jealousy curls in her stomach and she hates it and this is why she never stays the night at Ed and Harry’s place. She knows the string of one night stands is something that happens, but she doesn’t have to witness it. 

Hearing the opening chords of Ed’s first song is what propels her forward. Harry turns to face her before she can even say anything, like he sensed her coming. His grin gets wider, dimple deepening, and Taylor can see the smile on the bartender’s face fade. She doesn’t feel an ounce of satisfaction at that. She doesn’t, because it doesn’t matter and she doesn’t care, but it feels good to have the full force of Harry’s smile directed at her. It’s loud, the bar packed and Taylor nods towards the front in lieu of trying to shout. 

She grabs his arm, and his skin is warm and she can feel every point of contact as she pulls them towards the front, Ed in full swing and people swarming around them, trying to pull them apart. 

-

She’s sweaty by the time Ed gets to his last song, her shirt sticking to her back and Harry hovering behind her not helping. They aren’t touching, but she can feel the heat of him inches from her back. For a fleeting second, Taylor wonders what would happen if she just leaned back. What he would do, if he would take a step back, if he would wrap his arms around her like she’s seen him do to so many girls before her. 

Taylor takes a tiny step forward instead and focuses back in on Ed. He’s saying something and scanning the crowd, so she waves obnoxiously at him and smiles for real, because the crowd loves him and he deserves every second of this and more. 

“So uh, I normally play original stuff, but I thought I’d close out tonight with a cover, because a friend of mine requested it especially for another friend, and you gotta listen to your friends, right?”

The crowd screams, and Taylor feels Harry inch closer behind her. She doesn’t step away, but she doesn’t lean into it, either. She closes her eyes, lets the noise and the heat and the sound of Ed’s voice wash over her.

“This is Dreams by a little group called Fleetwood Mac. Good night, New York,” Ed says, and Taylor’s heart thumps in her chest as he plays the opening chords.

She doesn’t know what it means. Harry requested it for her, obviously, but. Okay. Sure, it’s a pick me up, and she needed it, especially after getting the email this morning that she didn’t get the job she interviewed for. 

She’s never heard Ed play Fleetwood Mac before, that’s more her and Harry’s area, but it suits his voice better than she thought it could, and she tries to ignore how her pulse is racing, but she gives up the fight when she feels Harry’s hands land gently at her waist. 

Taylor’s frozen. This isn’t territory she knows how to navigate, being the focus of Harry’s interest in a way that includes touching. She doesn’t move away, doesn’t want to even though her head is screaming something about notches on bed posts. Harry’s hands are huge and warm through her t-shirt, and when she doesn’t move away, he leans in close to her ear and she can’t miss it. 

“Dance with me,” he says, and this isn’t the time or the place and she knows what Harry’s like, but she’s lonely and sad and this won’t make any of the bad parts of her life go away, but she wants. 

Taylor hasn’t had anything to drink, so she can’t blame turning around in Harry’s arms on anything but a possible lapse in judgement. Maybe it’s the heat, she thinks, because they’re slow dancing in a dive bar in Manhattan, and it’s so out of place and she can’t stop wondering what it all means but her arms are around Harry’s neck and his arms are around her waist and they’re pressed flush together. She’s got boots on so they’re almost exactly the same height, and she doesn’t want to look him in the eye, but that’s where she ends up. Harry’s pupils are huge in the dark, and he’s looking at her lips. He’s looking at her lips and all Taylor wants to do is kiss him.

It’s probably a bad idea. There are friendships at stake here, and Taylor can’t afford to lose Harry or Ed, who would inevitably get caught in the crossfire. 

“Hey,” Harry rumbles, breaking her out of her frantic thoughts. He’s still looking at her lips.  
“Hey,” Taylor says back, because she can’t make the first move here. If everything falls apart, if they fuck this up tonight, she has to be able to say that Harry caved first because she’s not sure how she’ll pick herself up otherwise. 

Harry’s predictable, even though they’ve never been here before. Taylor would be lying if she said she’d never thought about the what if, but she didn’t picture it like this. Stone cold sober and Ed singing Fleetwood Mac and slow dancing in the middle of a crowd, sweat beading on their foreheads. She closes her eyes when she starts to move so she can say she didn’t see it coming and not be a total liar. 

His lips are gentle at first. Softer than she thought they’d be. He tugs her even closer and she feels like she’s going to overheat when he slides his tongue across her bottom lip. She’s embarrassed at how easy it is to open up to him, and she slips her hands into his sweaty hair and tries not to think about what’s happening, just focuses on the points of contact. Harry’s tongue hot against hers, his hands tight on her waist, gripping her like he’s afraid she’s going to run away, the way she can feel his breath warm on her upper lip. 

“Home, home, please,” he mumbles against her mouth, and Taylor bites down on his lower lip in response, pushing him back, Ed’s words fading. They’ll miss the encore, Taylor thinks wildly, and she feels guilty but if she stops now, she knows they’ll lose this forever. 

-

Harry and Ed’s place, her old place, is a ten minute walk, but it takes them five, the two of them speed walking like they both know how quickly the moment could snap. 

Taylor waits, a foot of space between them as Harry fumbles with the lock. She thinks about how Ed said he’d fix the back door at the bakery and snorts. The lock gives just as Harry looks back at her, his bottom lip still red. Taylor flushes and pushes him forward. 

They stumble back to what used to be Taylor’s room. It’s messier now that Harry’s inhabiting it in her place, but she ignores the clothes on the floor as Harry pushes her down on the unmade bed. He goes right for her neck, brushes kisses down to her shoulder as he slides his hands up her shirt. His fingers are cold despite how short the walk was, and Taylor tells herself that’s why she’s shiver. He pulls back to look at her, his face a giant question, and she answers by pulling her shirt up and over her head, and he’s on her again, hands gently unhooking her bra and sliding it down her arms as Taylor scoots further up the bed. 

Harry sits back and pulls off his own shirt, and Taylor’s seen him shirtless hundreds of times before, sleepy and wandering through the apartment’s shared space, but it was never like this. Never him breathing hard and looking at her like she’s someone. 

She closes her eyes as his hands go for her jeans. He’s infinitely gentle as he slides them down her legs, like he’s afraid she’s going to break or run away, but she’s not backing out now. They can’t. She has to see it through, has to see if they can make it. 

There’s a tiny seed of hope in her chest as Harry kisses her again, and they’re pressed skin against skin and he’s kissing her like he’s never going to get another chance to prove how much he wants her. She loses herself in it for a minute, the velvety slide of Harry’s tongue and the way his hands palm her breasts, practiced and sure, and the heat of him against her thigh. She wonders if he’s like this with all of them as he presses a kiss to her pulse point, and thinks he can’t possibly be, because this can’t be the end of the two of them. Naked in his bed, finally letting herself want, she knows that this has been a year in the making.

“Are you ready?” Harry whispers as he dips his hand between her legs. Taylor bites down on a sigh and nods as he fumbles around under the pillow next to her head for a condom. 

She watches him rip the package open and slide it on, and she swallows hard. It’s been a long time, and she’s aching and she knows that just this time will never be enough. 

Harry lowers himself down against her and she can feel him hot and hard against her and she pushes down and he groans, reaching between them and guiding his dick against her. 

“Okay?” he says, like she’s going to back out now, and for a second she feels like crying, Harry looking down at her like she’s the only person he’s ever had in this bed, and it’s not true but maybe she’ll be the last, maybe, maybe, maybe, and she just shuts her eyes and nods as he pushes in. 

For a second, she can’t breathe. It’s sensory overload, Harry huge inside her, everything on the edge of too much. He’s still above her, but she can feel how hard he’s breathing even as he tries to hold himself still. She leans up to kiss him and he starts to move, and it’s slow and it’s Harry above her braced on his elbows and it’s his lips relentless against hers and she feels so hot she thinks her skin might melt.

Harry shifts his weight and reaches down to thumb against her clit and Taylor can help the moan that tumbles out against Harry’s mouth. They’re not kissing so much as just panting into each other’s mouths at this point, and Taylor arches up into the press of his thumb and Harry pushes back into her and it’s overwhelming. There’s sweat gathering on her chest and he’s not much better off and she knows that she’s going to come from this and that thought pushes her closer to the edge. 

“Are you—” Harry starts and she nods frantically, catching his lips as his hips start to stutter and groans so loudly when he comes that Taylor laughs, remembering Ed’s comments about Harry keeping him up. 

She’s close, breaths coming quick, and Harry pushes in hard one last time, circles his thumb around her clit and whispers in her ear, “I’ve been dreaming about this since I met you,” and it’s such a line but it’s what pushes her over the edge in the end, her body shaking and pushing up against his until she’s limp and oversensitive. 

Taylor’s vaguely aware of Harry pulling out and fumbling around the room, probably in search of the trash can, but she slips into sleep before he comes back.

-

Bacon. She smells it when she wakes up, and she’s alone. Harry. The space next to her is still warm, so he can’t have been up long. Assuming it’s him in the kitchen, anyway. Taylor hopes it is, hopes she hasn’t fucked everything up beyond repair. She feels sick to her stomach as she swings her legs over the edge of the bed and struggles into her clothes. She wants to be able to make a quick escape if necessary, doesn’t want to see the sad look on Ed’s face if she’s just another girl. 

When she gets to the kitchen, she’s greeted with Harry naked at the stove, Ed at the table like it’s an everyday occurrence. 

“Good night, then?” Ed smirks at her, and Taylor doesn’t know how to read the situation.

“You were great?” she says, smiling weakly. Ed rolls his eyes.

Harry turns and yep, he’s very naked, and nope, she didn’t imagine anything last night, and she drags her eyes up his body and when she gets to his face, he’s smiling, and it’s okay. It’s okay, and Taylor’s been wrong before, but she doesn’t think she is today.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here](http://whatmaddiesaid.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
